


Colour My World

by RewriteDestiny



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Free to Be You and Me, Light Angst, M/M, Magical Realism, Purgatory, SPN 5x03, Spn 9x06, heaven can't wait
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-04-21
Updated: 2014-04-21
Packaged: 2018-01-20 07:59:09
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,972
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1502792
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/RewriteDestiny/pseuds/RewriteDestiny
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Castiel can see the colours that surround human beings. He sees the twinkling lights of their souls. Dean Winchester is immersed in emerald and gold but suddenly a new colour is born within him and Castiel finds himself desperate to know what that means.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Colour My World

**Author's Note:**

> Okay, this is a peculiar one. I had this idea that different souls were different colours and that angels could see them whenever they looked at a person. Then I ran with it. I'm not sure if it works but I guess we'll find out. 
> 
> Also, I'm British and using the English spelling of 'colour' (because I'm a Literature student and it pains me to miss out the 'u'). If a whole bunch of you prefer the American spelling (and the English spelling impedes your reading pleasure) then just let me know and I shall post another version with the American spelling. 
> 
> Happy reading all :)

"You can cut all the flowers but you cannot keep Spring from coming" - Pablo Neruda

\----- 

When Castiel concentrated he could see the colours that made up human beings. 

The angel himself existed in bright, white light. He burnt white hot and everything was the stark colour of purity. It was something he had always accepted. Angelic forms were made of burning flickering light that lacked colour, and that was that. 

Humans, however, were different. They were fascinating, intricate, with colours that whispered at secrets that they kept hidden so far below the surface that no other living being would ever see them. Castiel had never really considered the colours that made up humans until he had been ordered to save one from the depths of Hell. 

 

Castiel will never forget the way Dean Winchester looked when he first saw him. He had no corporeal form. The strong, muscular body that had supported him on the skin of the earth was long gone. He existed only as a soul that clung to the memory of his human form as a child clings to their mother. What was once Dean Winchester had become a creature that existed only to survive, inflicting pain on others so that he could just try and make the his own pain stop. Dean never forgave himself for that. Castiel never thought that there was anything to forgive. 

The angel grabbed the tatters of the hunter’s soul and cradled him within his own angelic light. It was then that Castiel began to see the true colours of Dean Winchester. In the depths of Hell he had been made up of only darkness but as the angel looked closer he could finally see the man’s true colours. In the tales that the humans told Hell was burning hot. It raged with orange flames that licked around the souls of the damned and burnt all of their humanity away. The humans were wrong. Dante was right. Hell burnt cold. It was a cold, stark nothingness. Ice-cold iron chains burnt into the skin of all who had ever done wrong. As Castiel clung to the tatters of the hunter he began to realize just how much Dean Winchester stood out against that ice. He burnt hot, with flashes of colour that none of the other damned souls could ever hope to exhibit. Whilst in the depths of Hell, however, the hunter’s warmth had begun to flicker. He had begun to give in to the cold, the ice, the demon that lived within him. It lurked at the very edge of his soul, whispering about bad deeds that could be committed and enjoyed. 

Castiel hauled himself upwards, batting his searing wings with as much force as he could muster as he attempted to get Dean back into the light. You will make it, he found himself whispering to the half-human that he was saving. Eventually, he would come to realize that the hunter was completely made up of the colour of his eyes; rough-cut emeralds that were found in the dirt but always meant for something greater, then pinpricked with flashes of gold. The gold would glisten as if it was constantly reflected by sunlight, shining like the great pyramids; it was Dean’s love for his family, his bravery and his overwhelming loyalty. The gold burnt even brighter in the pits of Hell. Yet the darkness was creeping in. The emerald appeared contaminated. A brown the colour of mud was beginning to seep into Dean Winchester’s colours and contaminate them. Deep inside himself, Castiel knew that it was too late. The mud would tint the hunter’s colours forever. He would always shine just a little duller now. No, Castiel screamed into the abyss. He beat his wings harder, entering into the bright light of heaven with enough force to take down an army. Here he did what he had to do. The angel grasped at the scraps of the righteous man’s soul and pressed them together with his light. He remade the body from scratch – the knots of muscles, the rough hands, the fairytale eyes – and he glued them together with a shimmering colour that belonged only to him. It could not remove the mud but it could counter it. The light of Castiel flooded between the disjointed colours of Dean Winchester and held him together, steadfast and sturdy. 

Castiel would never tell the hunter that, even in his darkest hours, he was held together by angelic light. He wouldn’t believe him anyway. 

\--------

Over the next few months, Castiel tried to focus on his mission. He was a soldier and not easily distracted yet sometimes, in the rare in between moments of his conversations with Dean, he found himself pulled towards the colours of the hunter’s soul that flickered about him constantly. They changed according to his mood but they were consistently underpinned by emerald, gold and the hint of angelic light. It fascinated Castiel that Dean was the antithesis of his brother. Sam’s primary colour was cerulean blue, with flecks of silver that glistened whenever Sam strove to better himself. They hinted at his thirst for knowledge and his desperate desire to stay clean and whole. Dean’s colours were richer and warmer, hinting at his desire to love and be loved – to not give into the demon inside himself. 

In the countdown to the apocalypse Castiel found himself staring at Dean’s colours more intently. He did not quite understand why but they soothed him in a way that no other colours had ever soothed him before; they made him feel as if the end of the world may not be nigh after all. At first, the angel thought that his favourite colour on Dean was the scarlet that streaked through the emerald whenever he began to rage about something. Castiel did not mean to like this colour the most but he could not help feeling that Dean’s rage lit him up like the sun. There was a terrible beauty in the blood red that infected Dean when anger began to beat through his veins. He became clear, absolute. The red reminded Dean that he was alive and, when he was surrounded by red, he did not want to die. That was something that Castiel would always be thankful for. 

But no. There was another colour that Castiel liked more than all of the others, one he saw for the first time in the early days of his mission. Sam and Dean had parted ways for a while and Dean found himself lost, escorting Castiel around for company as he pined for the loss of his other half. There had been a minor incident in a brothel where a lovely young woman had sat on Castiel’s lap. She was kind and witty, with colours that twinkled bright lilac in the murky room. The angel knew what was expected of him, he knew what Dean had brought him here for and he was also well aware that this could be his last night in this universe, but the colours distracted him. They did not warm and welcome him, as Dean’s did, instead they glimmered with a tinge of maroon sadness. Castiel made the mistake of drawing attention to the maroon. It was only when the kind woman removed herself from his lap and started screeching that he realized that perhaps he had done something wrong. The screeching alarmed him but Dean was laughing so he could not have made a huge error. A warmth spread through Castiel’s grace as he heard the laughter and saw how it sharpened Dean’s faded colours. 

They were outside in the cold air that Castiel could not feel. Dean was laughing in front of him, his eyes creasing and his arm swung over Castiel’s shoulder. The angel could feel every knot of muscle in the hunter’s arm and, for some reason, this made his vessel shiver. Then Dean turned. The sparkling emerald eyes met Castiel’s and there was a surge, a surge of something. Everything fell silent, the world stood in a hush around them as if every living thing was holding its breath. Dean’s face had fallen still and he was staring intently at Castiel. The angel could hear the hammering of the hunter’s heart but he could not deduce what was occurring. Something was happening and, somewhere inside himself, Castiel knew that it could change everything but he could not quite grasp what it was. Then something amazing happened. In the very centre of Dean’s colours, those faded greens and golds, colour blossomed. It was only tiny but it began to unfurl right in the centre of Dean’s being. It was a rich grass green, surrounded by a border of white hot stark light. Castiel stared in fascination. It reminded him of springtime, when the colours of earth would start to reappear, when life would finally begin again. Then Dean shifted and the colour was gone. Castiel narrowed his eyes in confusion, wanting to ask what was happening but not wanting to break the silence. The hunter was no longer looking at the angel, instead he was staring at the ground and gently flexing the hand that had been rested on Castiel’s shoulder. 

“Get in the car,” Dean said gruffly, keeping his eyes away from Castiel and striding briskly away from him to the other side of the Impala. The angel knew something had shifted between them, knew that it must have been a great emotion that caused a whole new colour to bloom within Dean, but he would never ask and the hunter would never tell him so they just continued on into the darkness in silence. 

\-------

Sometimes, within his darkest hours, Castiel would think about that small burst of green. As an angel he had been conditioned not to think of humanity too often, or examine them too closely, but Dean Winchester proved his constant exception. An apocalypse came and went, many friends were lost and lost again, and winter had seeped into them all like there was no hope of spring. After his time in hell, Sam came to carry with him a colour closer to navy blue rather than the cerulean that once clung to him. His silver was now charred with a dull grey and Castiel sensed the sadness that blurred the edges of his being. Meanwhile Dean had come to be cloaked in a shadow of dark, murky green that reminded Castiel of the most terrible depths of the ocean. The gold still glistened but only occasionally, as brief reminders of what Dean once was. 

But Castiel still clung to the hope of that unexpected bright green. When he became lost to himself, when he had no idea of what action to take, when he came to realize the stupid things he had done, he remembered that blossom of spring in the colours of the righteous man and forced himself to believe that spring could come again. 

It did, in the unlikeliest of places. 

In the depths of Purgatory, Castiel did not expect to be found. He did not want to be found. He was an angel that had done heinous things without truly falling – being trapped between Heaven and Hell seemed like the perfect place for him to spend an eternity. I am surrounded by monsters, the angel thought to himself, as I have become one. Dean Winchester, it seemed, did not agree. 

When he first laid eyes on the hunter within that greying world, the first thing that struck him was how bright his colours were. They were brighter than he had seen them in years. They reminded Castiel of the man that he had once dragged from the pits of Hell, of who they had both been once. Dean was grinning at him with joy and relief. His eyes were sparkling and his colours were twinkling with emeralds that exuded power and warmth. It made Castiel ache to look at him. He was covered in dirt and blood, and holding a makeshift knife, but he looked more comfortable than he had in years. Castiel yearned to talk to him, to blurt out a confession and bury himself in the warmth of the human man’s colours. He did not though; he just agreed to follow him, because in that moment he would have followed Dean Winchester anywhere. With each footstep, however, he knew he could not leave this place. He knew that he, the damned angel, should stay here amongst the monsters, where he belonged. But the tug of Dean’s colours was strong. Castiel could not turn from them, not yet. 

On the night that the angel was finally going to turn his back on the hunter and set him free, something happened. They had set up camp by a small lake and the vampire – Benny – was asleep under the shade of a tree, with Dean offering to keep watch. The colourless sun dappled the water and Castiel sat on the grassy bank, staring outwards and wondering just how he could bring himself to leave the only friend he had ever really had.

Dean threw himself down next to Castiel, his makeshift weapons laid out around him. He glanced slowly towards the angel, but Castiel would not meet his eyes. He knew he was about to leave and he did not want to make this harder than it already would be. 

“I miss cheeseburgers, man,” said Dean, with a half-hearted laugh. 

Castiel knew that he was making a joke, knew that he should respond in kind, but he couldn’t. He just couldn’t. There were no words within him for this. Nothing. He just continued to stare out towards the sunlight. 

“I think Benny would make me into a cheeseburger if he had half the chance, but that ain’t gonna happen.” 

Another joke; another attempt to bring the broken friends together. Castiel did not deserve Dean. He did not deserve this man who could find a joke in the midst of a terrible world. Castiel did not deserve anyone or anything. He only deserved pain. 

“Cas, man, at least look at me ...” 

And Castiel couldn’t resist. He wanted to make life easier, to just get up and walk away from Dean and never return, but he couldn’t resist one last look at the mortal man that had changed his entire existence. 

The sight that greeted him was overwhelming. 

Dean was staring at him, bright green eyes wide and alert, but it was his colours that Castiel noticed first. The emerald was pierced by the bright green colour of grass. It was blooming at the centre of Dean and seeping outwards, billowing around the speckles of gold. Castiel was staring at the hunter in awe. He felt as if he was watching spring bloom for the very first time. They had been trapped in the world of dark murkiness for so long that Castiel had almost forgotten about that bright green bloom of hope. It filled up his body and took away some of his pain, if only for the moment. 

The angel let his eyes flicker to the hunter’s and saw that the other man’s pupils were blown wide. He became aware that they were only inches apart, and the hunter’s strong body was so close to his own. Their breathing had become simultaneously heavy and Castiel could hear Dean’s heart hammering against his ribcage.

Castiel suddenly realized what the bright green meant. 

Slowly, as if he was afraid that he might damage the moment if he moved with any haste, Dean inched towards Castiel and pressed his soft lips against the angel’s. 

At first Castiel did not know how to react. The shock of human contact after so long in this place was overwhelming and he had never been kissed before, at least, not when it counted. The angel’s muscles suddenly tensed up and he found himself unable to respond. 

Immediately, Dean pulled back. His face was burning and the blossom of light green was fading fast. His face was closing up; he was becoming the hardened person again, the man that did not let anyone in. 

No, thought Castiel, no.

Immediately he knew what he had to do. With tentative hands, he reached out to cup Dean’s face, feeling hot skin and stubble beneath his fingers. He forced Dean to look at him, making those bright green eyes find his and watching as the leaf green blossomed around Dean. It blended into the emerald and bloomed like springtime as Castiel moved forward to capture Dean’s lips with his own. Their surroundings faded away and all of Castiel’s senses honed in on the warmth of Dean. Time moved slowly around them and silence rang in his ears as Dean slid a hand up the angel’s neck and latched it into his hair. The kiss was firmer now, more certain, and Castiel felt the sudden release of tension in the air around them, as if this was something that they had been building up to for a very long time. 

When Dean eventually drew back, he was flooded almost completely by bright green. His smile was small, private, reserved only for Castiel and for a fleeting moment the angel thought that maybe this was it. Maybe he and Dean could be each other’s springtime, maybe they could begin life again, undo all the wrongs of the past and bloom again like the trees after winter. 

Then they were set upon by rabid werewolves, and Castiel realized that for him there was no spring. There could never be spring. There was only darkness and regret. When Dean finally found a way out of that world, Castiel did not follow him. He did not deserve the hope of spring.

\-----

Castiel had seen the dawn of several millennia. He had witnessed wars and plagues and life and death. He had observed every inch of human life and yet there were still some things that surprised him. The angel had buried himself in darkness, because darkness was what he deserved. He hid his shame in the icy chill of winter and intended to stay there whilst the humans that he cared for moved onwards onto better things. He did not realize that nothing could stop spring. The world turns and keeps on turning, no matter what. Nothing stops another day. 

Eventually, Castiel began to feel the warmth of sunlight on his skin and finally, finally, winter was being shaken away. It just so happened that, when this had started to occur, he had lost his ability to see colours. His grace had been stolen from him and he found himself so completely human. Human enough to sleep and urinate and need coffee; human enough to find comfort in the ritual of stacking shelves; human enough to crave the reassuring touch of Dean Winchester without the man’s colours to guide him. 

After they had kissed in Purgatory there seemed to be a silent agreement to just forget about what had happened. Dean did not mention it. It had not happened since. When Castiel still had his grace he only saw hints of that bright green floating about Dean. There were no charged moments, not until Dean walked straight into the store in which Castiel was working. 

Human. Both so very human. 

No colours at all. 

It was the absence of these colours that made Castiel start to notice. He saw the strong set of Dean’s jaw, the high cheekbones, the emerald eyes. He saw the way the jeans clung to his legs, the way his shirt strained over the hard muscles of his arms, how the buttons of his shirt tugged ever so slightly over the broadness of his chest. Everything about the man screamed strength. Every line of him suggested that he could tear you apart. Castiel had never noticed this before. He had never noticed how Dean’s legs bent slightly outwards when he walked, how he ran his thumb over his forefinger in a comforting gesture, how his lips quirked up slightly when he looked at Castiel. 

Castiel missed Dean’s colours, he missed being able to read his emotions clearly, but he was also grateful that now he could see the hunter’s true beauty. 

That evening they were sat in the back room of the store. Castiel had been invited out on a date but he had declined. An evening with Dean felt more important somehow. 

They just sat on the hard floor, knees drawn up and backs against the wall. Neither of them was looking at the other. They were just sat, surrounded by all of the things that they had never said. 

Castiel felt completely lost. He did not know how to be human. He did not know how to go about this, to have a true conversation without the aid of the divine. He chanced a glance over to Dean and found the hunter’s eyes staring back at him. They twinkled in the dim light and suddenly reminded Castiel of the angelic light that he had once poured into the hunter. He had knitted Dean’s broken soul back together once and that light still remained in him – a tiny piece of what Castiel had once been forever holding Dean together. 

Suddenly, Castiel felt the human urge of need. He followed his instincts and reached one hand out, wrapping it around the back of Dean’s neck and tugging the hunter towards him so that they crashed together in a wild kiss. This was nothing like the last one. They were not being gentle or soft. Dean’s mouth was moving hard against his own, tugging at his shirt as he pulled the ex-angel down against him. 

Castiel gasped as he felt the hard body of muscle flush against his own. He collapsed down on top of Dean, tugging the hunter’s knees up so that they fitted around his hips and grabbing at his thighs, feeling Dean’s warm hands begin to slide under his shirt. 

The hunter’s teeth grazed Castiel’s bottom lip and the ex-angel let out a low groan, travelling his hands further up Dean’s thighs and grasping hard at the strong muscles he found there. Dean’s tongue met his own and the kiss turned frantic and filthy as Castiel felt the desperate need to get friction. They were both still in their clothes, the heavy clinging of jeans bringing Castiel back to himself. No, he thought, I don’t deserve this happiness. 

Abruptly, he drew back from Dean. The hunter was staring up at him with a questioning look in his eyes. 

“Dean, this ... shouldn’t happen,” Castiel found himself saying, sitting back on his haunches and watching the other man’s face intently. I can’t, I can’t, I can’t. 

“What? Cas, what do you mean –“ asked Dean, sitting up himself and narrowing his eyes, suddenly looking self conscious. 

“I don’t deserve this,” whispered Castiel into the dim light of the storage room, “I don’t deserve you.” 

It felt a relief to finally say it, and to not have to see the swirling of Dean’s beautiful colours as he admitted what he had always thought. He imagined the emerald green darkening now in confusion but when he looked up Dean did not look confused. 

“Cas, if there’s one thing I’ve learnt it’s that nobody deserves anything in this world, but when you find something you want you’ve got to grab it before it slips away.” 

Dean’s lips quirked up a little and Castiel found himself smiling in spite of himself. Just for a second he thought he saw the bright green of Dean’s hope hovering just behind the hunter and he felt something warm burst in his chest. Then, he glanced back into Dean’s eyes. 

Slowly, Castiel made a decision. He leant forward and pressed a kiss to the hunter’s lips, finally letting spring bloom.


End file.
